


Massage

by cutglasscaress



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Massage, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:39:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutglasscaress/pseuds/cutglasscaress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John offers Sherlock a massage to relax him. There is nothing in it for him at all. It’s all selfless altruism, honest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Massage

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters. But I play with them shamelessly in my head.

**POV John**

Sherlock had been in a state of irritated boredom for three days now, ever since the conclusion of the last case, and as usual John was the one having to put up with his flatmate’s exasperating mood. It was at times like these that he would indulge his imagination with several scenarios in which he would finally, _finally_ shut Sherlock up. Most of these admittedly involved a certain degree of violence, and some at least the secretion of a knock out sedative in an innocent looking cup of tea. When even that was not enough he would grab his jacket and get out of the flat before strangulation became an attractive option. Today while indulging himself in a different scenario involving Sherlock, he was startled by the subject of his thoughts addressing him from only a couple of feet away.

"John! I’ve been calling you for the past twenty two seconds. What _are_ you thinking about?"

He was so abruptly taken out of his thoughts that he answered without thinking.

"Massage"

That earned him a sharp disapproving look.

"Well, if that’s the only way to relieve your tension, I’m sure you can find a _parlour_ that will accommodate your needs". The words did not so much drip with contempt as deluge. 

"What? No! Damn it, Sherlock! That’s not what.. And what the hell do you mean ‘relieve _my_ tension’? If anyone is tense around here it’s you. You are like a bloody tightly wound spring ready to unleash and wreck havoc around you. So if anyone needs a damn massage that’s you."

"I don’t need any such thing. Transport, remember?"

"Yeah, well, even transport needs servicing every now and then". Oh, God, that sounded way more sexual than he meant it. "Certainly wouldn’t do you any harm. Why not just try it?" Hell, if it kept him quiet for just ten minutes, it would be worth it.

Sherlock was silent. This would normally be deemed an excellent result, but it wasn’t _that_ kind of silence. It seemed to be infiltrating John’s being like a particularly insidious form of osmosis. It filled up his mind in a way that noise never could. He was compelled to turn his face up to his friend. Sherlock’s head was slightly tilted at an angle, and he was giving him that full on all-my-attention-is-utterly-focused-on-you look which was to say the least a tad disconcerting. Sherlock seemed to be actually considering John’s proposition. Then his gaze shifted to something John couldn’t quite categorize.

"I..don’t like strangers touching me, John". 

"Oh.." Suddenly Sherlock sounded and looked oddly vulnerable. Surely the only reason why John felt compelled to offer help. "I did a course a few months ago with Linda". Ah, yes, in the, as it turned out, vain hope of practicing on her once the course was over. He remembered Sherlock had ribbed him about it at the time, as he did so often about anything connected with his dating attempts, so it was somewhat odd that he seemed to have forgotten about him taking the course. Of course, he was bound to have deleted it, as utter tosh and unworthy of filing even in a dingy cellar of his mind palace. Sherlock still looked decidedly undecided. John put his best ‘I’m a competent professional’ look on his face.

"Sherlock, I do know what I’m about and you need this. You can tell me to stop any time". He felt however that his flatmate was less than convinced, so he resorted to a tried and tested tactic.

"Just look at it as an experiment. Gather your data, extrapolate your result. You wouldn’t shy away from knowledge?".

He knew that Sherlock was fully aware of what the good doctor was up to, and notwithstanding his ‘I’m perfectly aware of your blatant attempt at manipulation’ smirk, he could rarely resist a challenge. His addictive nature wouldn’t let him. 

Sherlock’s piercing eyes were regarding him, but John knew he had won. If the answer had been no, Sherlock would already have uttered it. And maybes were rarely part of his vocabulary.

"Alright. How do you want to proceed?"

"Well, lying down on your stomach would be the most comfortable position for this. Would you prefer to be on your bed?"

"The sofa’s fine."

"I’ll just get some baby oil. It does make it much easier and it’s..nicer with than without. Trust me, I have done this before".

"I will bow to your greater knowledge in such matters". Sherlock’s utterance somehow managed to blend mild disdain and amused archness, but John suspected it was an attempt to cover some of his discomfort at the situation, the great consulting detective agreeing to this, something so .. physical. John returned with the oil and a bath towel, which he proceeded to lay down on the sofa. He watched as Sherlock looked at the couch in a speculative and slightly unsure manner. 

"Removal of clothing is traditional". John tried but didn’t manage to keep the smile from the words or his face. He was beginning to enjoy this rather a lot. He got a narrowed glare from his flatmate. "Wouldn’t want to get baby oil all over your expensive designer underwear, now, would we?" It was a full on smile now.

A put upon huff, then a shrug. "Fine!" Sherlock swiftly and efficiently undressed, and laid face down on the couch. John had an odd uncomfortable moment when he was sure he was staring rather longer than he should, and caught himself doing it. Did Sherlock notice? Surely he was too busy undressing and was not looking at him anyway. Mind you, he could probably tell by the change in his breathing rate or some such. Wait.. had his breathing rate changed? He was a doctor, surely he could tell.

"Sometime today would be good".

John was guiltily jolted back to the present. "Uhm, yes, sorry. Right." Ok, get it together. This was _purely_ for Sherlock’s wellbeing, he needed to focus. Some small (well, maybe not so small) part of his baser animal self was also revelling in being the one in charge for a change, the one with the knowledge, about to give Sherlock an experience he had never had. He kneeled on either side of his friend’s hips and rubbed some oil into his hands to warm it up. He started on the shoulders, at first gently but firmly. Just getting him used to the feel of someone touching him, and soothing him with a steady rhythmic movement. At the initial touch, Sherlock instinctively tensed. 

"I know it’s hard, but please try to let go and let me take care of you". John put his best doctor voice on, but after only a few minutes he could tell something more would be needed. Sherlock was beginning to get twitchy and impatient. John had already found the hard knots of tension in his shoulders, and was about to do something about it.

"John, I’m not sure .. Ah, God!..Nghh!" John started by pressing hard with his thumbs, then increasing the pressure, kneading and prodding. Once his shoulders were finally unknotted, he moved further down.

"Feels good, ha? God, you were really tight there!"

"Ohh, uhmmm, John, that is ... really.. "

"I know."

"Yes, there, just there! Nghh!! Harder, John!"

"Still bossy, I see. How’s that?"

"Uhm...lovely. More, there, and dig your fingers in deeper. Like that, yessssss"

"Like that, do you?" John had to admit that he was thoroughly enjoying the sounds he was getting from Sherlock. He was so very .. responsive. He was surprised. He’d honestly thought the experiment (yes, he was allowed to experiment as well, thank you very much) might not work, that Sherlock would seize up and put a stop to it even before it had properly started. But here he was like the proverbial putty in his hands. Though he was pretty sure putty never caused him such a physical reaction. Ok, no need to over analyse this. They were engaged in fairly intimate contact after all, and god knows, he hadn’t had any such with anyone for quite some time, certainly no one who made those kind of noises. His mind drifted off to another scenario involving Sherlock and those kind of noises. He had to rein himself in pretty sharply as his cock twitched uncomfortably in his jeans.

John had reached the small of Sherlock’s back, so he shifted his knees to in between his legs. It was a testament to his skills that he was able to move his friend’s legs without even a twitch from him, he seemed so blissed out. John tried not to think about bliss, or the spreading of Sherlock’s legs. He was aware that he had been in control at first, concentrating on achieving his goal (do a good job, don’t let Sherlock bolt), but now that he was allowing himself to relax a bit he found his mind drifting to not totally uncharted areas. Sherlock was a beautiful man, and John was not immune to male attractions. But he had always seemed so cold, so above anything physical that it had been hard to fantasise about him in the throes of passion (he had a good imagination, though, so he gave it a good go). But all the time he knew that was just a fantasy, a person who didn’t and couldn’t exist in real life, and that was fine. The fantasy remained firmly where it was supposed to stay. But now the fantasy was leaching into reality and his body was responding accordingly. 

John rubbed more oil between his hands and tried not to dwell on his next point of contact. Sherlock’s gluteus maximus. John momentarily froze as his mind caught up with what his hands were about to do. His hands. On. Sherlock’s. Arse. His jeans were excrutiatingly tight, and he attempted to adjust himself so they would be merely horribly uncomfortable. Ok, concentrate on the pressure points with a firm touch.

"Ohhhhh, John!" Christ, how was he supposed to bloody function? Just the sight and feel of his hands moving on Sherlock’s gorgeous bum was... He unwittingly groaned as the sensations became too much.

"John?" Sherlock was twisting round to look at him. Oh, god, he must be so easy to read right now, to anyone. He could feel Sherlock’s gaze on him, and like a magnet he found himself drawn to it. Sherlock’s eyes were hooded, pupils dilated, a slight upturn to his lips, and he was not imagining the lust laden voice

"John, I think we would be more comfortable if we moved to the bedroom"

"Oh, god, yes!"

**********************

**POV Sherlock**

Sherlock threw himself sulkily on the couch and stared at John. He’d been trying for ages to brew up a good row, being as obnoxious as only he knew how, purely as a distraction from the utter dullness of life. For some reason he liked to see John in all his facets, and he hadn’t seen him angry and simmering with pent up aggression for at least a few days (actually since their last argument), so he wanted to see it again. It was always.. exciting. But John was determined to be stoical, at least outwardly, though Sherlock detected a tightening of the jaws and that faraway look he sometimes got when his flatmate was being particularly unhelpful. Not for the first time Sherlock wondered what was going through his head at those times. Perhaps he was calming himself with thoughts of his evening plans – pub night with Lestrade. Dull, and very annoying, as invariably he would come back with some woman’s phone number scribbled on a napkin and a ridiculously pleased grin on his face. Well, he could at least put a stop to those thoughts right now.

"John". No reaction. He turned to look at him.

"John!" Sherlock’s lips tightened into a line. Soooo, _that_ kind of fantasy, was it? He rose from the couch and loomed into John’s line of sight. 

"John! I’ve been calling you for the past twenty two seconds. What _are_ you thinking about?"

John jolted out of his daydream and blurted out

"Massage"

Just as he thought. Fantasising about practising his newly acquired skills from that course on some potential date. Why did John persist in wasting his time with these women? Most often than not, the dates were a disaster and he didn’t get any sex out of them. Of course Sherlock was aware that this was mostly his fault, and he revelled in that knowledge. But now he found that his mostly acted out irritation was turning into the real thing. 

"Well, if that’s the only way to relieve your tension, I’m sure you can find a _parlour_ that will accommodate your needs". He made sure John felt he was polluting his very lips just to utter the words. 

"What? No! Damn it, Sherlock! That’s not what.. And what the hell do you mean ‘relieve _my_ tension’? If anyone is tense around here it’s you. You are like a bloody tightly wound spring ready to unleash and wreck havoc around you. So if anyone needs a damn massage that’s you."

At last, a reaction! A slight flush to the cheeks, denoting embarrassment at having been caught out in a sexual fantasy (John could be delightfully obvious). 

"I don’t need any such thing. Transport, remember?" Sherlock made sure the superior smugness of his tone was not lost on John. A little bit more squirming would make his cheeks even more adorably pink (adorably?). Although... had John just foolishly intimated that Sherlock should get a massage? Wait.. was he offering?

"Yeah, well, even transport needs servicing every now and then. Certainly wouldn’t do you any harm. Why not just try it?" 

Sherlock froze as the images blazed through his mind unbidden. John massaging him, the feel of John’s capable warm steady hands (would they stay steady?) roaming all over him, his body heat sinking into his skin, John fully dressed while he was utterly naked beneath him... He became aware that John was watching him, and realised from his look that Sherlock must have been staring at him for some time. The length of the silence and the stare would no doubt be deemed a bit not good. He didn’t want John to feel uncomfortable, not if he wanted to get his way. He needed him to feel in control, have the upper hand for once.

"I ..don’t like strangers touching me, John". That had the right mix of diffidence and vulnerability. John would surely fall for it.

"Oh.. I did a course a few months ago with Linda". Why was John reminding him? Surely he knew he didn’t delete anything pertaining to him. Perhaps just a conversational way to remind Sherlock he would be competent with the task. Sherlock did not want to be reminded of another of John’s interchangeable women, however, nor did he want John to dwell on that memory either. He knew he was frowning before he could stop himself. Luckily John interpreted this as lingering diffidence and sought to dispel any doubts in Sherlock’s mind, even appealing to his thirst for knowledge and delight in experiments. They both knew this game well, but it was still fun to play it.

"Alright. How do you want to proceed?"

"Well, lying down on your stomach would be the most comfortable position for this. Would you prefer to be on your bed?"

Sherlock chose the sofa. Tactically, a more neutral territory.

At the mention of baby oil Sherlock’s brain helpfully brought up a new plethora of images. He tried to cover this up with a typical offhand comment, but wasn’t sure he’d managed. No matter, John gave him a little reassuring smile and went off to get the supplies. While the sofa was being regaled with a bath sized towel Sherlock couldn’t help visualising himself on it, in all the different positions John could manoeuvre him while covering him in slippery warm hands...

"Removal of clothing is traditional". Sherlock shot him a look, trying to work out if John had suspected his train of thought. But no, John was still blissfully oblivious, still thinking Sherlock was a little reticent. Excellent.

"Fine!" Sherlock had no problems with his own nakedness, but was wondering what effect it would have on John. After several seconds had passed without so much as a peep or movement out of him, he felt hopeful of the answer. He hid a sly smile in his arms.

"Sometime today would be good"

Some mumbling later and John was shifting around behind him, there was the sound of hands rubbing in oil, and then the shock of warmth, of John’s hands, on his shoulders. John was stroking, touching, gliding, rubbing, and the sensations were overwhelming. He could hear John talking to him, trying to get him to relax. But how could he do that, when all he wanted was to push himself into John’s touch, to have more _John_ all over him. He was aware of his growing erection, and he was shifting accordingly to make himself more comfortable, at the same time fighting his desire to rub himself against the towel. He could sense John’s uncertainty at his movements. Was he being obvious? Did John suspect? He still wasn’t sure what his reaction would be. He needed to assuage any suspicions by still pretending this felt a bit awkward, but not enough for John to give up.

"John, I’m not sure.. Ah, God!..Nghh!" A whole new level of sensory heaven hit his mind and promptly short circuited it. He was pretty sure he was not very coherent after that, but John certainly seemed to know what was best, and enthusiastically applied it. His whole world focused on the delicious sensations John was eliciting, and his utterances were reduced to breathy moans of appreciation. He gave up all pretence and surrendered himself to bliss. 

He became dimly aware that John was manoeuvring his legs, and he surfaced from the sea of sensations to note that John had settled between them. The next thing he knew, there was the hot pressure of John’s hands on his backside. His cock twitched and hardened even more, and he could not help fantasising about John’s fingers, so close now, slipping between his now spread cheeks and..

"Ohhhhh, John!" A groan, the faltering of movement. Sherlock attempted to engage his mind to extrapolate a deduction, but his brain was having the equivalent of a post-coital fag. Nothing else for it. He would have to turn and see for himself, and in the process, expose his no doubt obvious tells to John. 

He felt uncharacteristically tentative when he called his name and turned his head, but one look was enough to confirm his hopes. John had never looked more gorgeous: pupils blown wide, face flushed with arousal, obvious erection, and practically panting as he stared back at him. 

"John, I think we would be more comfortable if we moved to the bedroom"

"Oh, god, yes!"

****************

Much, much later, in Sherlock’s very untidy bed ..

"So when you said ‘Massage’ you were fantasising about giving me one?"

"And I certainly did" John giggled like the adorable love struck idiot he was.

Sherlock barely refrained from the impulse to tickle him mercilessly. Another time, when he could garner enough energy to actually move. 

"I would certainly like to reciprocate. Personally I’ve always enjoyed a Thai massage, but I think a standard Swedish is more your thing". He let the implications sink in and gave it approximately seven seconds for the penny to drop (well, ten allowing for the post orgasmic haze).

"What? Wait.. what happened to ‘I don’t like strangers touching me’?" Uhm, five, John was always surprising him.

"My sweet John, have you learned nothing from me?"

"How to be a manipulative sly git?"

"You are an apt pupil"

"I love you too"

***************

  



End file.
